


Gift

by thecrownofthereveur



Series: Under Gotham's rainy sky [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 17:03:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3142067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrownofthereveur/pseuds/thecrownofthereveur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim tried to return the smile, but he couldn’t, he was too busy watching Oswald and trying to divert his eyes to anywhere else. Then, feeling that strange sensation in his stomach again, he knew he was in trouble, he knew that every single thing he had done since he became a detective was in danger, he knew he was fucked up, because he wanted to stay there, submerge himself in this foreign feeling mixed between excitement, fear, and distress. He just wanted to stay there, watching Oswald Cobblepot’s smile, and melt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gift

Jim sat on a bench at the train station, watching how the trains came and went over and over. Barbara had just left. She was going to stay with his parents for some time and it was for the best. Jim had declared a war against Falcone, and he was going after every dirty cop and every corrupt politician he could find too. And if he was going to do so, it was better if the woman he loved stayed away. Jim was sure about what he was doing, he was very sure. But he couldn’t stop feeling like he was going to die very soon. At every corner he imagined Falcone’s men raising a gun to his face and killing him. This is Gotham after all, he thought. Anything could happen now.  Maybe that was why Jim just wanted to stay there, killing his time a little, just waiting. But waiting for what? Maybe the courage he needed to do this, maybe death, maybe Oswald Cobblepot appearing out of nowhere and sitting on the bench beside him without a word. And then Jim laughed briefly, because that was indeed what he was waiting for.

‘You made her leave’, Cobblepot said, sitting at his side with his umbrella. Jim just looked at him out of the corner of his eye, not as surprised as he could have been.

‘Yeah, I did…’ Jim responded without taking his eyes off the trains.

‘For how long?’ Oswald asked.

‘Just the necessary,’ Jim said. And he really wanted to think that. He glanced again at Cobblepot, just leaning his head a bit. The man was wearing a black, formal raincoat above his accustomed suit, and he had a pair of strange sunglasses covering his eyes. Jim wondered if it was raining with sun outside, but it was more likely that Oswald was hiding, from who Jim didn't know, maybe Maroni’s men. Oswald wasn't doing a really great job; his aspect and contexture were too particular to pass unnoticed.

‘You aren’t with your thugs today,’ Jim pointed out, not able to avoid suspecting. But Cobblepot just laughed, smiling like if Jim had told a joke.

‘I don’t need my thugs to come to see you, James,’ he said.

The name sounded strange from Cobblepot’s lips. Jim remembered suddenly how it sounded against his neck’s hollow, the little anxiety in the sound, in the pronunciation. It disturbed him somehow, making him avoid any type of eye contact with Cobblepot.

‘Jim,’ he heard Cobblepot’s voice suddenly, ‘I came here to warn you about something.’

Jim frowned, looking at Oswald’s shiny shoes.

‘Falcone ordered one of his men to hunt you,’ he said, ‘His name is Victor Zsasz, and he’s not a normal man. If you meet him, be careful, _please_.’

Jim, just a bit startled by the use of that last word, nodded slowly.

‘Yes, thank you,’ he said, ‘thank you, Oswald.’ When Cobblepot had stopped being Cobblepot and had become Oswald, Jim didn’t know. ‘But I’m truly starting to think that my days are numbered.’

‘Don’t say that, James,’ Oswald reprimanded him, like if Jim had said something horrible. Then he stood up, putting his sunglasses on again and grinning. ‘You saved my life,’ he said, ‘so I’m going to do everything I can to save yours.’ He raised his hand, and Jim didn’t understand at the beginning what the man wanted. When he realized he hesitated just for a second, and then he took Oswald’s hand, shaking it. He held it for a moment, not knowing why. He met Oswald’s eyes for the first time since a lot of weeks, and he felt strange. He squeezed Oswald’s hand just a bit stronger. And as though responding, Cobblepot passed his thumb along the knuckles of Jim’s hand. He didn’t have a smile in his face anymore. Jim let go, feeling a knot in his stomach.

Then Oswald turned around, leaving the station the same way he had come. In silence, just slightly limping.

***

When Falcone decided to forgive Jim, the cop wasn’t sure whether to believe it or not. It seemed impossible, but it was happening. He was leaving Falcone’s mansion along with Barbara and Harvey, the three of them very alive and without a scratch. How that had happened, he didn’t know. He couldn’t just accept that Don Falcone had spared his life twice in less than a year. It wasn’t possible. Maybe the man, as the people in the street was starting to say, was getting soft. But for some reason Jim was sure that his liberation had something to do with Oswald. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

When Jim met Victor Zsasz, he soon understood why Cobblepot had warned him about the man. He wasn’t particularly big or strong, but in his behavior, in his way of speaking and in his eyes, especially in his eyes, there was something odd that Jim couldn’t describe. He was intimidating in a lot of ways, but he was frightening too. Like he was an animal haunting prey, prepared to jump and sink his teeth into its skin. Barbara was scared. After Zsasz had abducted her when she came back for Jim fearing for his life, she hadn’t left the apartment. She was always afraid. Even walking to the shop near her building was a difficult thing now. Jim didn’t know what to do anymore. He was almost always in the police station, and lately Barbara and he were talking less and less. He knew that wasn’t good. He knew he should do something. But too many things were happening at the same time. It was confusing.

He had given Barbara his personal gun (the one he had kept hidden in a shoebox in his closet). He told Barbara to use it only if she truly believed she was in danger. He had shown her how to hold it and how to pull the trigger, but something in his mind was telling him that it hadn’t been a really brilliant idea. Barbara was too scared, and Jim had seen what a trained cup could do with his gun if he was scared.

***

Cobblepot left Falcone’s house holding his umbrella over his head. He didn’t want to come back to his mother’s apartment all wet. He was proud somehow, of how things had gone. Jim Gordon was still alive, his girlfriend and partner too, and that was a lot more than what Cobblepot had predicted in the first moment. That was a relief. Now Cobblepot had to think in a way of keep Jim out of trouble, at least for a while. But he suspected Jim wasn’t going to let that happen in an easy way. Oswald sighed, already seeing the hard work he would have to do. Jim Gordon was a difficult man after all.

***

Jim came back to Barbara’s apartment tired. It was his first day on the job job after the whole Falcone thing, and he was feeling exhausted. He found Barbara sleeping in the sofa in her dressing gown. He smiled, walking towards her to pet her hair. He headed to the kitchen after; he was hungry, and probably Barbara could also be when she awoke. He was thinking about what he could cook when he saw it. A little packet beside the door. He frowned, taking it, unsure of what it could be. He found a little note on the side, written with a blue pen. After reading it, he couldn’t avoid feeling a twist in his stomach.

‘ _Hi, James._

_This is a present I thought you could need soon._

_I hope you like it._

_O.C.’_

Jim swallowed, glancing at Barbara still sleeping in the couch. What he found upon opening the box was a handgun.

***

Jim never thought he would step in Don Maroni’s restaurant ever again, much less moved by his own decision. After he entered, suddenly all the people’s eyes were on him. Jim ignored them. He kept walking with his eyes on the table of the corner, and he sat there without saying a single thing.

‘Can I do anything for you, Sir?’ a waiter asked, taking a step towards the table. He seemed strong and big, too big to just be a waiter. Jim looked at him, trying to smile but failing. ‘I need to see Oswald Cobblepot,’ he simply said. The man in front of him almost laughed but he soon tried to recover his composure.

‘I’m afraid seeing the restaurant’s manager is not that simple,’ he explained smiling, ‘maybe you could set a date?’

Jim laughed ironically. As far as he could remember he had had a lot more than a date with Oswald.

‘Tell him I’m here,’ he said. He was sure that Oswald would come if he knew Jim was demanding to see him. ‘If he’s busy, I’ll wait.’

The man put his lips in a tight line, turning around to leave. ‘Fine,’ he said, but then he stopped almost immediately, like remembering what his job was there. He glanced at Jim again and he asked grumpily, ‘Do you want anything to drink?’

Jim looked at the menu in front of him, taking it and giving it to the waiter. ‘No, thanks’,’ he said, ‘just water would be fine.’

***

Jim waited there for a couple of hours. Apparently Oswald was busy meeting with some business man in the back of the restaurant (of course, Jim knew that in places like this business men were the same as gangsters). The guy seemed to be climbing very fast in Don Maroni’s mafia; some months ago he was just a dishwasher, and before that the guy who held Fish Money’s umbrella to keep her hair from frizzing. Just for a moment, Jim wondered about what Cobblepot could have been if he had chosen another type of profession. Before he could come up with an answer, Oswald came out of the kitchen, glancing at every table until he found Jim’s. He walked towards it, barely blinking and taking one of the chairs to sit down. Jim’s heart was beating faster than five minutes ago.

‘Hello, James,’ Oswald said with his usual crooked smile. ‘What can I do for you today?’

Jim swallowed, putting on the table the little box he had found in Barbara’s apartment the other night (how Cobblepot knew he was staying there again was a mystery). He sighed, trying to relax in his chair. ‘I can’t take this,’ he simply said, hoping it would be enough.

Oswald looked at the box for some brief seconds, and then he looked at Jim, no longer smiling. ‘It’s just a gift, James.’

‘Yes, I get that,’ Jim responded, looking across the window besides their table. ‘But I can’t accept it.’

‘Why not?’ Oswald asked.

‘Because I’m a police officer,’ Jim whispered, leaning towards Cobblepot. It wasn’t like anybody in the bar didn’t know about how he was, but Jim wasn’t going to take risks at this point. He was already too close to the edge. ‘And you are a gangster, Oswald,’ he said, and was surprised of his voice changing from angry to afflicted while saying that. ‘I can’t accept gifts from you, less if they are guns.’

Oswald blinked. Then he looked down at the table, like if he was thinking about what would be the most reasonable thing to do now. He attempted to put a hand on the box, but he hesitated, putting it in the table instead. ‘You are right,’ he said, ‘I wasn’t thinking properly.’ Then he stood up, taking the little box with one hand, ‘I should…, keep this then.’

Oswald seemed about to leave, giving Jim that strange smile and stepping back just a little. Jim sighed heavily, closing his eyes. Before Oswald could go, he put a hand on the box just above Oswald’s. ‘I’ll keep it,’ he said, starting to look Oswald straight in the eyes slowly, ‘but I’m not going to use it, okay?’

Gently removing his hand from the box, Oswald smiled once again like if he had heard a joke. ‘That would be fine, I guess…’

Jim tried to return the smile, but he couldn’t, he was too busy watching Oswald and trying to divert his eyes to anywhere else. Then, feeling that strange sensation in his stomach again, he knew he was in trouble, he knew that every single thing he had done since he became a detective was in danger, he knew he was fucked up, because he wanted to stay there, submerge himself in this foreign feeling mixed between excitement, fear, and distress. He just wanted to stay there, watching Oswald Cobblepot’s smile, and melt.


End file.
